stay where it is perfect
by floodonthefloor
Summary: "Why did you leave." Her eyes are bleak, tired. She knew the facade would break sooner or later - but not this soon. "Clarke, it's 3 in the morn -" "Why did you leave me alone in my bed. Do you know what that did to me?" "Clarke." Lexa says her name as if it is a whispered prayer, a name too sacred to say any louder. "I was so scared. I'm sorry."
1. Chapter 1

**36 Months Ago**

It's July 2010, and Clarke Griffin is just about to start her twelfth year at her high school. Everything has been running well thus far; she gets along with everyone in her year, her Facebook page for her art has just hit 1,000 likes, prospects for the school she wants to go to are looking bright, and her grades are very, very high. "Smooth sailing," as she calls it.

Right now, her and her best friend, Lexa Woods, are going on their last bike-ride of the summer break down to Valley Lake. This summer has consisted of hardly anything but bike-rides, smoking pot, painting, and going to the occasional party or two. Clarke can hardly complain, but she's ready to go back to school and finally work towards graduating. Lexa is not doing badly for herself, either - already one of the most talented young violinists in their city, she has scholarships lined up and ready for her for when she graduates. "It's pretty alright," as she calls it.

Clarke sparks up a joint the minute they get there, sitting cross-legged near the water. Lexa leans her bike up against a tree and sits next to her, reaching for the joint once she takes a hit and takes a drag of it, herself.

"Year twelve," Clarke murmurs, blowing smoke out into the air. Whatever strain Clarke has bought must be strong, because she can already feel the familiar, pleasant light-headedness. "Think it'll be horrendously difficult?"

Lexa shakes her head. "We've been keeping up fairly well, haven't we?"

"I guess."

Clarke sees Lexa glance at her through her peripheral view, and she knows that Lexa is not convinced. It's always been an issue with them - there are never any secrets when it comes to emotions between the two of them.

Lexa speaks. "What's on your mind?"

Clarke shrugs, holding smoke in her lungs for a longer period than usual, then exhales deeply. "I don't know. I'm worried for post-graduation. And success. Whatever it is that entails."

Lexa leans back on her hands, watching Clarke speak. "I understand. But you'll be fine. You're going to be a famous artist."

Smiling sheepishly, Clarke passes the joint back to Lexa. "You really think so?"

"Tell you what," Lexa says, "If you aren't famous by the time you're twenty, I'll plug your art when I'm a famous violinist, and playing in the Philharmonic, or something."

Clarke snorts, looking out to the water. "And if I _am_ famous?"

"You plug my violin artistry to all of your adoring fans." Lexa puts out the joint, placing the last half into a Ziploc bag and laying it on the ground beside her.

Clarke gently poke Lexa's side, causing her to jump in surprise.

" _Ah!_ Wha –"

"Lexa Woods," Clarke says, a mischievous grin on her face as she reaches to start tickling Lexa, "Next on Oprah, we've got America's fiddle-playing sweetheart performing a song for us. Cue the cheering fans. The fanfare. Indoor fireworks."

Lexa starts to giggle uncontrollably. She seizes Clarke's arms, trying to get them away from her, but Clarke is relentless. "Please! Stop!"

"How does it feel to be famous, Lexa?" Clarke continues, and the two end up wrestling in the grass, Lexa starting to go red with laughter, Clarke chuckling away at the torture of it all. "When are you playing a solo next? Is it true that you're dating James McAvoy? Wouldn't you say he's a bit too old for you?"

"I yield!" Lexa yells, rolling away from Clarke. "I yield!"

Maybe it's the weed, maybe they're stressed silly about school starting again, but the two can't stop laughing, both on their backs, holding their stomachs. Clarke is incredibly pleased with the development of their friendship in just two years – her and Lexa had met halfway through their tenth year, when Lexa had just transferred schools. They've been inseparable ever since. It would be impossible to find one without the other.

Lexa rolls to face Clarke, wiping tears from her eyes. "I'm a little insulted," she says breathlessly, "James McAvoy? Really? He's so old."

"He has…nice eyes," Clarke says, positioning herself so that she's facing Lexa. "I dunno. It was the first name that came to mind."

"Either way, he's almost thirty."

"Age is but a number."

"You're full of it."

"You love me." Clarke smirks.

"I guess."

The banter slows down, and through the haze of what they've just smoked, a flash of _something_ goes through Clarke's mind. She grins, lightly placing a hand on Lexa's cheek.

Lexa furrows a brow. "Clarke?"

"Can I try something?"

"Erm. Try what?"

Clarke's eyes move to gaze at Lexa's lips, aware of every movement she makes, but at the same time, feeling as if she has lost all control of her actions. _This is what I want right now._

She slowly starts to move forward, but Lexa backs away at the last second, right when Clarke's lips have started to brush against hers.

"How high are you?" she says, laughing nervously and sitting up.

Clarke's lips feel like they're burning from where they touched Lexa's lips. _Must be the weed._ She lies there for a few seconds, rolling on to her back and focusing on the sky, trying hard to suppress the disappointment brewing in her stomach.

"Pretty high," she says breezily, sitting up and rubbing her eyes. "Shall we go back?"

Lexa simply stares at Clarke, trying to process what's just happened, but her mind is too far up in the cloud for her to form any logical lines of thought. She still feels a little silly, still giggly, and she nods. "Sure."

It's not much.

But it's where it all begins.

* * *

 **31 Months Ago**

The second time it almost happens, months later, it happens.

It's at Wells's Christmas party, and they're both shittered from the punch and in the bathroom together. It's around one in the morning. Clarke's realizing how drunk she is as she relieves herself on the toilet, and Lexa has made herself comfortable in Wells's bathtub.

The past few weeks of school had been stressful – they'd already been assigned huge papers, homework assignments, and projects. The idleness of winter break is a welcome embrace for both of the girls.

As for Clarke and Lexa, things have been more or less the same.

More or less.

There have been more casual brushes of hands than normal, more kisses on the cheek that are a _little_ too close to lips, more held gazes from across the room; something has changed between the two of them, and Clarke has spent the past few months desperate to act on this.

"Do you think we've all actually been reincarnated?" Lexa squints up at the showerhead.

"If we were, I bet I was, like, Van Gogh in an earlier life." Clarke finishes up on the toilet and moves to wash her hands. "And you were Mozart."

"That doesn't make sense," Lexa huffs, squeezing a squeaky duck sitting on the bathtub ledge. "You're already an artist, and I'm already a violinist. I don't think people could be reincarnated into people who were already the person that they were before they died. Also, is Mozart really the only violinist you know? You're so musically uncultured, it actually kills me."

"Uh, there's Beethoven…and Bach…and, ah…" Clarke shakes her head, drying her hands off on a towel. "Get out of the tub, Lexa. Since when do you know all about reincarnation?"

"How funny would it be if you were Joseph Stalin in another life?" Lexa says, starting to giggle.

Clarke rolls her eyes, placing a hand on her hip. "Please."

"Moustache and all."

"You've been studying for history a tad too much."

"No such thing, Sir Stalin."

None of this is actually funny from a sober perspective, but the whole show of Drunk Lexa is funny in itself, and Clarke can't help but laugh.

Lexa fumbles her way into a standing position, and starts to make her way out of the tub, but stumbles once she's out. Clarke moves quickly to steady her friend, and the two stand there, staring at each other.

Clarke is still holding Lexa's arms.

Lexa swallows nervously, eyes nervously flitting from Clarke's eyes to her lips.

The tension is palpable, and Clarke doesn't know if she can stand it any further.

Lexa is the first to break the silence. "Clarke –"

Clarke silences her by pressing her lips against Lexa's, moving her hands from Lexa's arms down to her waist. It takes Lexa a second, but her hands are immediately on either side of Clarke's face, kissing her back, hard. Clarke feels a rush of heat move through her body as she pushes Lexa back against the wall. She is about to take it a step further, moving her right hand slightly underneath the hem of Lexa's shirt, and Lexa breathes in sharply at the sensation, moving her hand on Clarke's face further back to take hold in her hair –

Then someone is knocking on the door.

The two girls jump apart, looking at the source of the sound, then at each other.

"Hey! I need to pee!" Patrick's voice sounds from outside. "Hurry up!"

Lexa clears her throat, smoothing down her shirt, and Clarke runs a hand through her now-rumpled hair before opening the door. Patrick's hand is in a mid-knocking position, and he drunkenly pushes past Clarke and Lexa.

"Took you long enough," he grumbles, "What is it with girls and going to the bathroom together? Why does that happen?"

Clarke shrugs, leaving the bathroom, and Lexa follows. "Trolls, you know? Bathroom trolls?"

"Whatever. Dave's starting a game of sociables out in the living room," Patrick says before closing the door, hiccoughing. "And Wells is hosting a beer pong tourney."

"Thanks, Patrick, but I think I'm heading home, soon," Clarke says. Patrick shrugs, and closes the door behind him.

The girls stand in the dark hallway in silence. Lexa turns to Clarke. Clarke still feels like her heart is swelling up a little from their - _exchange -_ just now.

"I'm not gay."

Clarke raises an eyebrow. She's drunk, but not drunk enough to not see the slight fear and confusion in her best friend's eyes. "Okay."

"I'm not!"

"Okay!" Clarke raises both of her hands. "It doesn't have to happen again. Whatever."

Lexa pauses. "I mean –"

Clarke groans, not quite having the patience for her friend's indecisiveness at the moment. If she's being honest to herself, she's willing to take Lexa into the bedroom on their right hand side and continue where they left off, but she knows that's a mistake. That kiss was a _huge_ mistake. Lexa is very obviously panicking a little, and Clarke doesn't want to be the source of that. They can figure it out later. Or never.

Preferably never.

"Right. Let's go play a round of beer pong and head home." Clarke extends a hand to Lexa, and Lexa shrugs, taking it.

"I'm pretty drunk right now. I could probably kiss lots of other people. It's what drunk people do," Lexa adds.

"Sure, Lex," Clarke says, making her way out to the beer pong table. "Whatever you say."

* * *

 **25 Months Ago**

This goes on for weeks. Months. Every time the two girls get drunk, they end up pressed tightly against each other, hands running down each other's backs – a tangle of inebriated passion. Mouths melding against each other as if they've been doing this for years. Holding each other until they aren't sure whose body is whose, anymore.

They never get very far, though - Clarke is too afraid to take things any further than stray hands up shirts, in fear of Lexa pulling back, and Lexa -

Well, Lexa is just afraid. She never initiates any of their kisses, but freely goes with it whenever Clarke does initiate things. Clarke frequently asks _"Is this okay? Is this okay? Is this okay?"_. Lexa says _"It's okay. It's okay. It's okay."_

Then they see each other at school the next day, and pretend that nothing's happened the night before. Clarke pretends that she didn't spend all of last night wishing she could lock herself and Lexa in a bedroom, and Lexa pretends that she's still just a straight girl having fun with her best friend. "I was _so_ drunk last night" is a common phrase shared between the two of them.

But both of them wonder. Lexa begins to realize that she's never really been attracted to a man before. Clarke begins to realize that she's never wanted to kiss anyone as much as she constantly wants to kiss Lexa. But neither of them speak about it. They go about their days as normal. Lexa goes to Clarke's house and watches her paint. Clarke goes to Lexa's house and watches her compose music and practice her violin. Everything is normal.

 _Normal_ being used in the loosest form possible. _Normal_ being _completely not normal but we're trying really hard to pretend. Normal_ being Clarke lying in her bed, _wondering_ why Lexa wouldn't acknowledge what's been happening between the two of them, thinking of their drunken nights together (often letting her imagination run wild and continue what Clarke would never continue in real life).

It's summer again, and the year is coming to a close. Clarke is sitting on the swings with Wells. It's finally warm enough to be able to wear shorts and a t-shirt in the evening.

"Okay, so let me get this straight." Wells says. "You're not."

Clarke's about to hop off her swing and punch Wells for that one, but she just snorts. "I guess not."

"So, like, you're bisexual? Does that mean you're into the threesome life, now?"

Clarke glares over at Wells - she loves him dearly, like a brother, but he's acting like a really dense straight boy right now. "It doesn't work like that. I just like girls in the same way I like guys. That doesn't mean I want to do both of them at once. God."

"Sorry, sorry. How did you - I mean, how did you figure it out? Like, did you see a photo of Megan Fox one day and you kind of went "woo-hoo"? Or?"

"Jesus, Wells!"

"What! I'm new to this."

Clarke is mostly grateful that her best friend is cool with it all, cool enough with it to crack dumb jokes like the ones he's cracking right now, but she's still a little exasperated. "I don't know. I just kind of realized that I wanted to kiss girls as much as I want to kiss boys."

"What girl? Lexa?"

She almost falls off of her swing. "What?" she splutters, her face going bright red. "No. She's my best friend - along with you, of course - and if you're implying that every girl who likes girls is into their female best friend -"

"Calm down, I'm not. All I'm saying is that you and her mysteriously disappear during parties and re-emerge looking a little ruffled up."

Alarmed, Clarke turns her head to Wells. "Have people noticed? Lexa doesn't want people to notice -"

"No, but I have. Like you said, we're best friends. It's a little hard to not notice when your beer pong partner never is around to play beer pong anymore."

Clarke runs a hand through her hair. "Sorry. I don't know what's up with her. I'm - I'm trying to figure it out. It's fine, though. We just fool around sometimes. No big deal."

"You got far too taken aback for it to not be a big deal."

"It's not a big deal."

"It's okay if it's a big deal. But I'd suggest dealing with the big deal before your feelings get out of hand, as they always do."

Wells is right, but Clarke would never admit that.

The first time Lexa initiates things is when they're at Clarke's home, alone, after their last high school party, ever. Clarke's mother is on a flight back from a doctor's conference, and won't be back until very, very early the next morning.

Clarke initiates the kiss.

Lexa? She initiates everything else.

The year end party was boisterous, fun, drunk, everything that a year-end party could possibly have been. Clarke and Lexa remained inseparable, getting their asses kicked in beer pong, speaking to their mutual friends together, Lexa with a hand possessively around Clarke's waist, Clarke sitting on Lexa's lap on the couch as they laughed with Wells about a few of the ridiculous antics that the graduating class had been up to all year.

Now, Clarke and Lexa usually left parties together, but always when it was dwindling down, when everyone was saying goodbye, goodnight - this time, they left early. Lexa had come up to Clarke as she poured herself another drink, pressed herself against Clarke's back, and whispered -

"Do you want to get out of here?"

Clarke had almost dropped her drink with the surprise of it all, already feeling the heat coming back and spreading all throughout her body, feeling her ears turn slightly red. "Uh, sure," she mumbled, taking a sip of her drink and placing it down on the counter. Someone will finish it off for her later.

By "out of here," Clarke was thinking out of the living room and into the bathroom somewhere, but Lexa was putting her shoes on (and having a little trouble with it in her current state) at the front door. Clarke, dumbfounded, followed her lead, and Lexa grabbed Clarke's hand and led them outside.

Clarke lives less than a five minutes walk away from Wells's house, and when they get there (after walking in complete silence), Clarke unlocks the door, kicking her shoes off as Lexa does, and follows her up the stairs. Her heart is pounding.

Lexa doesn't bother turning the lights on in Clarke's room, and Clarke shuts the door behind her, flopping on her back onto her bed. Her ears are ringing, and she's not entirely sure if it's from the booze, or from the adrenaline threatening to have her heart beat out of her chest.

"That was a fun party." Lexa's voice sounds from the foot of Clarke's bed, and Clarke sees the shadowed figure of her friend standing uneasily before her.

"Yeah," Clarke says awkwardly.

"Daniel asked if we were together. Isn't that funny?"

Clarke swallows. "Yeah. Funny."

"I mean, I'm not gay, but if I were, I think we'd be really, really compatible, Clarke," Lexa continues, still standing. "You're a fantastic kisser. I'm sure you're fantastic in other things in that department."

Clarke _knows,_ she just _knows_ that this is _trouble_ waiting to happen, that she should tell Lexa to go to bed, sober up, _not_ allow anything further to happen - but Clarke is the last person she would ever call the patron saint of self control when it comes to Lexa Woods.

"Come here," she whispers hoarsely, "Please."

She watches Lexa's dark figure as she slowly leans forward, crawling onto the bed and over Clarke's body - literally _crawling,_ which is pretty much the sexiest thing Clarke has _ever_ seen, and only after a moment's hesitation, Lexa moves forward in a near-bruising kiss. Clarke already feels a moan pushing its way up her throat as they kiss, open-mouthed and wet with Lexa's tongue running along the tip of Clarke's, Lexa between Clarke's legs and pushing her hips into her, and Clarke feels like she is about to burst at the seams as the warmth in her body pools in between her legs, her hands firmly gripping the back of Lexa's neck.

But Clarke will not allow herself to take it any further - not until Lexa does. The thought of it makes her want to squirm because _she wants Lexa she wants Lexa right now,_ but she has to know that Lexa wants Clarke, too.

Thankfully, the wait is not long. She feels Lexa's lithe fingers, still a little cold from outside, make their way up Clarke's shirt, fingertips brushing against the outline of Clarke's bra.

Lexa pulls away from Clarke's lips for a moment, stopping her movements. "Is this -"

" _Yes,_ " Clarke breathes. A thousand times yes. As many "yes"es it would take for Lexa to understand how _okay_ this is. She sees the dark figure of Lexa nod and moans, deep inside of her throat, when Lexa's fingers move underneath Clarke's bra, brushing against her nipple. Lexa moves to place her lips in Clarke's neck, sucking until it leaves a bruise, and soothing the ache with her tongue, and Clarke is beginning to see stars underneath her closed eyes.

She brings her hands up and underneath Lexa's shirt, and Lexa pushes off of Clarke to straddle her, crossing her arms around her front to take the shirt off, and reaches for Clarke to do the same. Clarke cannot believe that this is happening. If this is a dream, she hopes that she does not wake up soon. She takes off her shirt, reaching up and around Lexa's back to unclasp her bra expertly, and it slides down Lexa's arm. Clothes continue to get shucked off of Clarke's bed, and soon they are left wearing nothing but their panties.

Neither of them have enough time to think about what they are doing as they are back to kissing each other with fervor, touching every inch of bare skin that they can get to, letting out moans and low-voiced " _fuck"s_ and their breathing growing heavy to the point where Clarke thinks she might pass out.

Lexa is the first to slowly start to lower her hand down to Clarke's hips, running her fingers along the fabric of her underwear. Clarke moves her hips up as an encouragement - _yes, this is okay -_ and Lexa moves off of Clarke's body to slide the fabric down Clarke's legs. Clarke rises, taking Lexa by the waist, and whirls them around so that she is on top, and Lexa's underwear comes off soon after. Clarke settles herself in between Lexa's legs this time, and she feels Lexa's wetness on her stomach. She is already close to the edge.

"You're wet," she murmurs, moving to attach her lips to Lexa's breasts, running her tongue over Lexa's nipple.

"I - _oh -"_

Clarke pushes into Lexa's centre, and Lexa's breath catches in her throat. Clarke smirks and continues to press herself against Lexa, moving up to kiss her again.

She's never done this before, but it feels - _good._ They fumble a little, awkward at times, but they know each others bodies, and their own.

"Can I - can I go down on you, Lexa?" Clarke murmurs, and through the darkness, Clarke sees Lexa bite her lip and nod.

"Yes. Please."

Clarke nods at this, and slowly starts to trail wet kisses down the length of Lexa's toned body, careful to be slow.

She has slept with boys before, and they have gone down on her, but never has it been satisfying. Clarke uses this knowledge, with the knowledge of the things she does to herself, and slowly moves her tongue along the length of Lexa's slit, moaning at the taste and the wetness she finds. Lexa shudders, letting out a sharp cry, fingers gripping in Clarke's blonde hair. Clarke latches her lips on to Lexa's bundle of nerves, beginning to run her tongue along it, gripping Lexa's thighs as Lexa's breathing grows more and more erratic, her legs starting to shake. Clarke keeps going. As long as it takes for Lexa to reach. She doesn't care how long it takes.

And it doesn't take long.

" _Oh._ Fuck. Clarke - _fuck!"_

Lexa climaxes and Clarke almost does just by listening to her cry out her name, tug on her hair as she arches her back, and when Clarke lifts her head, Lexa's sweat-slicked chest is heaving, her eyes still screwed shut, and Clarke takes the moment to wipe her mouth off on the side of her arm, laying down beside Lexa, her breathing just as uneven. She feels her heart swell again, this time with happiness instead of anxiety, and she thinks that this could be the beginning of something great between the two of them. Something Clarke has been waiting for all year.

Without warning, Lexa is on top of Clarke in an instant.

"My turn," she breathes.

Maybe this is something better than what Clarke expected.

Clarke wakes up and stretches, feeling a pleasant kind of soreness in her muscles. She looks over at the clock to see that it's near ten, and looks over to see that Lexa is not there beside her.

She feels slightly panicked, but the panic subsides when she hears someone moving about in the kitchen. Letting out a yawn, she gets out of bed and puts on a pair of pyjama shorts and a t-shirt that's just a little too big for her (Lexa's shirt that she left here _ages_ ago), and proceeds to head down the stairs.

There's a faint smile on her lips as she moves. Last night was–well, last night was clumsy, and a little drunk–but last night was otherwise perfect. Clarke remembers Lexa burying her face in Clarke's shoulder before they fell asleep together, still a little sweaty, and still a little breathless.

Clarke is formulating the right words to say to Lexa- she knows that Lexa probably is feeling anxious about things - and she wonders if she's allowed to kiss her good morning today.

She turns the corner.

"Hi–"

It's not Lexa in the kitchen, but Abigail.

"Hi, Clarke!" she says, moving forward to hug her daughter hello. "I've made waffles, French toast, and some bacon. There's hot water for tea, if you'd like."

"Morning, mom, thanks," Clarke says, looking around the kitchen to see if maybe Lexa is sitting at the table - but she isn't. The panicked feeling she had felt before comes bubbling back up. "How was your conference? And, uh…have you seen Lexa?"

"The conference was good. Productive. Lexa? I actually saw her right as I got home, around five. She was just leaving. Does she have a new job, or something?" Abigail pours some of the hot water into her own mug. "She sounded like she was in a hurry, running down the stairs and all. Maybe she was late."

"Uh, no," Clarke says in a faint voice, feeling the panic start to wilt and her heart beginning to sink into her stomach and tears starting to well up in her eyes as she realizes what's happening. Clarke sits at the empty table. "I guess she's gone. Um, thanks for breakfast, but, uhm, I'm not all that hungry. I'm sorry."

"What? French toast is your favourite!" Abigail exclaims, turning to see that Clarke is almost in tears.

She quickly turns the stove off and puts her spatula down, racing over to kneel next to Clarke. "Clarke? What's wrong? What is it? Did you and Lexa have a fight?"

Clarke's tears flood over her eyes at that moment and buries her head in her hands, shaking her head. "No. It's–it's nothing," she mumbles, sniffling and looking up, giving her mother a watery smile. "Look, I just–I need to go upstairs. I'm sorry."

Abigail raises an eyebrow, but knows better than to bother Clarke any more about it. "Okay. Let me know if you need anything."

Clarke says a quick thank you and runs upstairs, throwing herself on her bed face-down and allowing the tears to completely take over.

 _Lexa is gone._

 _You've fucked it all up._

 _Big surprise, there._


	2. Chapter 2

Today is June 12, 2014.

Lexa stares at the date on the calendar hung in the room of her apartment. A photograph of pugs, all gathered up in a basket, is the calendar's photo of the month.

She decides that she now hates pugs.

Lexa gathers up the rest of her Poli-Sci notes, standing from her desk, stretching the soreness of sitting down for hours at a time, out of her muscles. Her exam is tomorrow, and she's likely more prepared than any other student in her lecture, but she will pick up studying again later nonetheless. She thinks of what she was doing at this exact moment in time. It is two o'clock in the afternoon. This exact time, two years ago, Lexa had not left her bed since she had gotten home after –

After _that morning._ The morning where she woke up next to Her. The morning where she woke up next to Her, not wearing any clothes, morning light starting to creep its way into Her room. This exact time, two years ago, Lexa had not stopped crying for hours at a time.

The pain is a little less this year. She remains as alone as ever, but Lexa has learned how to not allow the crushing feeling of loneliness overwhelm her. She has learned how to carefully compartmentalize the emotions associated with Her into a little box, at the back of her head. She is careful to never open the box, in fear that it will burst and flood the rest of her body, just as it did last year.

Lexa packs her bag, ready to head to the supplemental Political Science seminar. It's not necessary for her to go, but her professor had suggested that his students attend, and it wasn't as if Lexa had much else to do, anyway. It's not as if she can stand being alone with her thoughts right now. Not today.

There's supposed to be a year-end party that the Poli-Sci cohort is throwing tonight, but Lexa has opted to decline the invite. It always goes the same way, anyway – Lexa nurses a singular drink (if not water) throughout the whole night, sitting at a table by herself, making awkward small-talk with anyone who bothers to sit with her until the person feels too uncomfortable to continue. Then, around 10, she leaves.

Lexa walks through campus, where boys with fraternity t-shirts are wearing backwards caps and throwing a Frisbee across the quad and freshman with tired eyes are dragging their feet to their next final.

 _Fuck today._ Lexa had managed an entire two days without thinking of Her, and today just _had_ to be the day. She inhales deeply, feeling the anxiety of it all starting to attempt at crushing her.

She remembers the day after. Seeing Her at school the next day. Doing everything she possibly could to avoid eye contact with Her.

She remembers every day after. Lexa remembers graduation, convocation, how She was the valedictorian of their class (how fitting, Lexa had thought). How She gave a beautiful speech about maintaining friendships. A speech about allowing forgiveness for yourself. A speech about not allowing the world to harden you.

Lexa did not maintain friendships.

(Sorry.)

Lexa did not allow forgiveness for herself.

(Sorry.)

Lexa allowed the world to harden her.

(Sorry.)

It's been two years since that night and the morning after. Lexa refuses to get Facebook because Her art has reached new heights of fame, plastered all over posters, social media, all of it. Lexa cannot risk seeing any of it, or photos of Her through mutual friends, if she can help it.

She quit playing her violin shortly after school ended, opting to accept the scholarships completely unrelated to music – she could have gone to the University of Manhattan for music (one of the best of its kind in the country), but her parents had always wrinkled their noses in distaste at the thought of Lexa pursuing classical music, violin, as a career. So, she instead chose to major in the Political Sciences, at the University of Berkeley. And she has hated every minute of it since.

 _You won't make any money playing that fiddle of yours. It's not a smart decision._

The only reason Lexa had not quit before was because She had convinced her to "screw what your parents say. If you want to play violin for the rest of your life, do it. You're amazing with it, and more people need to know about your talent."

She had made Lexa feel like her dreams of playing in the Philharmonic were viable dreams, dreams that she could easily achieve.

Lexa's violin collects dust underneath her bed, now.

The only sort-of-vaguely-friend friend that Lexa has made so far is Costia Abramov, a quirky girl, sweet, and oddly kind to her, considering that Lexa has maybe said around 20 words in total for the year and a half they have known each other. Part of her suspects that there may be a flirtatious kind of lilt to the way Costia speaks to her sometimes, undertones in the way Costia _always_ insists on buying her dinner when they go out to study – but Lexa actively ignores that part. She's not sure what it is about her that could cause Costia to even consider that Lexa is attracted to women, but Lexa does not like it. Not one bit.

Currently, the two of them are studying for their Poli-Sci final in one of the grassy areas in the outer quad, after the supplemental seminar. Lexa reads her textbook, pretending to listen to everything Costia is saying (which is usually the way things go with them), as Costia talks and talks away.

"…and then Vanessa Lee dropped out of the orchestra. After pushing the conductor around to give her a solo for _months,_ she dropped out, right before a huge, huge charity event and concert in _Carnegie Hall._ Isn't that ridiculous?" Costia places a hand on Lexa's knee briefly, to get her attention, and Lexa looks up from her textbook, staring at the hand. "Isn't that ridiculous?" Costia repeats.

Lexa nods. "Mmm." She goes back to reading her textbook. Costia awkwardly takes her hand off of Lexa's knee.

Costia is an oboe player for Berkeley's orchestra – it is fairly well known, surprisingly enough – not quite at Julliard or Manhattan level, but still renowned. They've played concerts all around the world, and as much as Lexa aches to join them, she cannot bring herself to pick up her violin again. She knows of the Carnegie Hall concert, of course she does – another one of her dreams was to play there. And She had told Lexa that it was so, so possible.

Lexa is wondering how much longer she can get away with avoiding conversation before Costia gets angry with her. It's not that Lexa doesn't like Costia – Lexa likes Costia just fine, as a person, of course. It's that Lexa does not want to come off equally as flirtatious as Costia is. Lexa does _not_ like women. Absolutely not.

(Lexa tries to ignore this, but she knows that Costia is quite pretty – she has raven-colored hair and bright hazel eyes and beautiful, smooth olive-coloured skin. She is incredibly intelligent, artistic, kind, considerate…

Too much like Her. Lexa never allows herself to even contemplate liking Costia back.)

Costia continues speaking, aimlessly flipping through the pages in her textbook, clearly not reading any of it.

"We're pretty desperate for someone to replace her. None of the other violinists can learn the solo in time for the Carnegie Hall concert. Vanessa Lee was the only one who learned to play it. Did you mention you play the violin the other day?"

Lexa swallows, turning the page of her textbook and highlighting an important sentence. She doesn't recall telling Costia about playing the violin – in fact, Costia is the one of the only people she has said more than a handful of words to, and violin-talk was not included in those words. "No, I didn't."

There's a pause, and Lexa can tell that Costia is itching to say something. She looks up, and Costia is looking down at her hands, biting her lip nervously.

(Lexa tries to not think of Her biting her lip.)

Finally, Costia inhales and speaks again. "Okay, I'm going to admit something to you as long as you _promise_ to not judge me."

Lexa raises an eyebrow, hoping that this isn't some confession of a crush. If it were, Lexa would up and leave. Right now.

"I may or may not have looked up your name on Google. It's just that – when we were studying for our midterm in your room, I went into your desk drawer to find that thesaurus you were looking for, and I saw a gold medal for the Julliard-hosted violin competition thing. And I was like, that's crazy! I remember Marcus telling me about how there's only been one person younger than 18 to win that competition, like, ever, and so I was just checking to see if it was you or not. And it turned out to be you. You won when you were 17. I mean. Wow." Costia breathes out _._ "I saw a few YouTube videos of news channels covering your orchestral concerts and stuff. You're like, really, really good."

Lexa is absolutely _amazed_ at how much one person could possibly talk so much in the span of thirty seconds. "I do not really play violin anymore."

"Okay, but – it's just – I told Marcus, our conductor, that I know you, and he _flipped._ Like, he's pretty much a huge fan of you, and he said that you'd won some sight-reading competition, also. He was just wondering if maybe you could cover for Vanessa Lee's solo. Like, sight-read it, see how it is, and maybe cover for her solo. Just for this one concert. They just can't seem to find _anyone,_ and they'd pay for you to get there –"

"I'm sorry, Costia, but I cannot. I am busy that night."

"Do you even know what night it is?"

Lexa reddens at this. She hadn't read the date. She remains silent.

Costia huffs and closes her book, quite aggressively. Lexa flinches.

"Okay. Lexa." Costia runs a hand through her hair. "I'm really sorry if I did something to offend you or something, but I really don't appreciate being completely disregarded ninety percent of the time. Look." She sighs. "I like you, okay? Like, a lot."

Lexa freezes at this.

"But it's fine if you aren't – you know – _into girls,_ or whatever. I like you like that, but I also think you're really cool, and I'd like to at least be friends with you. You're super smart, and you always help me with class stuff. And I really appreciate that. But if you want me to fuck off, I'd really like for you to just _tell me_ instead of making me wonder if you actually like me as a person or if you want to punch me in the face. It's getting really difficult to tell."

Costia sits there and waits for Lexa to say something. Lexa's face is still a little red, and words are starting to choke her a little. A lump forms in her throat.

Lexa doesn't know when she got like this – because with Her, in high school, words always came easily to Lexa. She was always willing to go to a party or two every weekend. Now – now she was pathetic. Friendless. Unable to articulate herself.

Costia's breaks her thoughts. "Fine. I'll see you in class tomorrow. Good luck studying for the final, I guess."

As Costia gets up to leave, Lexa grabs her wrist, panic overtaking her. "Wait." She _can't_ lose the only sort-of friend she has made here. If anything, Costia could be a new beginning for Lexa. A new friend to help her navigate a new life without Her. Costia looks at the hand on her wrist, and slowly sits back down. Lexa puts her hand back down.

"I'm sorry I don't talk much," Lexa starts, starting to pick at the grass and not making eye contact. "I sort of – I sort of lost someone a little while ago. And she was very, very important to me. My life is very different without her now, and I never really learned how to get used to it. So I forgot how to socialize and stuff, and – I'm sorry. Tell Marcus I'd love to read the music for Vanessa's solo and see if I can help out."

Costia's voice is softer. She nods, smiling gently at Lexa. "I'm sorry, too," she says, "I didn't mean to lash out like that. And sorry you lost someone – how did she die?"

"I – she didn't –" Lexa doesn't know how to explain _any_ of it to Costia. She chooses to not explain. "It's a long story. Maybe I can talk about it some other time. But not today. You're my friend, Costia, and I'd like to get to know you better. I'm going to try harder to be better about things."

Costia places a hand on Lexa's forearm. "It's honestly fine, Lex."

(Lexa feels like she will vomit at the nickname because _She called her Lex no one else calls me Lex no one else is allowed no one can call me that except for Her –_ but she chokes it down. She moves on.)

Lexa just smiles at Costia. Hopefully that will do, for now.

Costia leans back and opens her textbook again. "So, uh." She shifts awkwardly. "No date, huh?"

Lexa chuckles slightly. "I'm sorry, but I'm –" she shakes her head. "I'm not into women like that."

"That's fine. Sorry if that makes things totally weird. I'll stop weirdly flirting with you and stuff. Jeez. I'm so stupid. I'll find a non-straight girl who's as cool as you, one day."

"There are many of those, don't worry."

 _I'm not into women like that._ As if Lexa doesn't replay the events of That Night in her head over and over again. As if she does not still ache for Her to be in her bed again, by her side, touching Lexa like She did –

 _Fucking stop it._

Lexa watches Costia as the other girl starts to highlight lines in her textbook.

 _Maybe I can be normal, after all._

 _Maybe I can forget._

* * *

It's late into the evening when Clarke Griffin wakes in the middle of the night. She's just had a dream about a flying car chasing her through the forest, and it was oddly unsettling.

Her loft is vast, a little lonely – she is the only resident, and the area she lives in is relatively quiet. Clarke rolls over and pulls her cellphone off of her nightstand to check the time.

1:34am. June 12, 2014.

Clarke has put her phone back to sleep and is about to put it back on her nightstand when she realizes it.

June 12, 2014.

She presses the power button again.

1:34am. June 12, 2014.

"Fuck," she whispers, placing her phone beside her and rolling on her back, staring up at the high ceiling.

How ironic it is that on the second anniversary of Lexa leaving, Clarke is alone in bed again. She wonders if Lexa is alone in bed. She wonders if Lexa has someone else in her bed.

The thought of the latter makes her feel sick. Clarke has never understood the term "green with envy". She's never felt green when it comes to thinking of someone else with Lexa. She's always felt it, visceral, as red. Bright, angry red. All other times she thinks of Lexa, it is grey. The kind of grey that makes you sad to look at. The kind of grey where if you woke up one morning and the clouds were that dark, dismal shade of grey, you would go back to sleep in the hopes that it will clear.

(It doesn't.)

Red is still on her mind when she gets out of bed, _knowing_ that sleep will not come to her tonight unless she does something about it, and she turns the lights on in her loft, moving to the corner where all of her painting gear is.

She picks up a pallet and fills it with as many acrylic shades of red that she can find.

An hour later, she is left with a canvas of reds, some angry, some softer, others blended into both. She stopped painting Lexa months ago – now, she paints objects associated with her during episodes like these ones. Baby steps, as Clarke likes to call it.

Tonight, it is a violin – again. Swirls of red surround it, and Clarke can almost hear the tune that could be played along to a presentation of this – a brusque, fast-paced tune. One that makes you feel as if you need to be somewhere, fast, or you could lose something important – perhaps the feeling of late for work after your boss threatened to fire you if you were late again, perhaps the feeling of being a paramedic racing to get to an accident before any fatalities occur. Perhaps the feeling of going downstairs to the kitchen the morning after fucking your best friend and hoping she will still be there.

Clarke throws the pallet and paintbrush down on the plastic sheet-covered floor and moves back to her bed, sits, and picks up her phone.

She goes to text a contact – Raven. Raven is always awake at this time. Clarke is fairly certain that Raven is nocturnal, at this point – always working on the next engineering project that she can get her hands on until the sun rises.

Raven doesn't know much about what happened with Clarke and Lexa – just that they had once been best friends. That they had been lovers for one night. That Lexa had run away. Clarke knows Wells is sleeping right now, and she doesn't want to incur long-distance fees for him, as he is currently in Canada for college.

Currently, Clarke is amongst one of the top students in her two-year long fine arts program Yale University, and well established as an artist in Connecticut. She misses the quaintness of Oregon, her high school friends, especially Wells (and Lexa, but there is not much that Clarke can do about that), but Clarke has managed to find a home in Connecticut. She graduates with her degree in fine arts next month.

 **Clarke:  
** awake?

Clarke can instantaneously see the "read" receipt, and the tiny grey bubble indicating that Raven is typing. She leans back into her bed, feeling a little less lonely.

 **Raven:  
** Yeah. What's up?

 **Clarke:  
** today is june 12

 **Raven:  
** Okay?

Oh

Shit.

 **Clarke:  
** i don't really know what to do right now i don't feel good

 **Raven:  
** I can come over?

 **Clarke:  
** it's okay it's too late for that

 **Raven:  
** She still hasn't contacted you then?

 **Clarke:  
** no and i don't expect her to. i stopped expecting her to like last year

i don't know why i can't stop thinking about it still. like it's stupid at this point. i feel like it's just stupid

 **Raven:  
** That usually happens when you don't get closure with someone. You never got closure, right?

 **Clarke:  
** no i didn't

she literally just left me there

and didn't speak to me for the remainder of the school year

she didn't even look at me once

a few months after we graduated i messaged her on facebook with a link to this NBC spot briefly covering this art show that i did even though she had unfriended me

the next day i checked back to see that she had deleted her facebook and that was the last time i ever spoke to her again even though i guess that doesn't really count

 **Raven:  
** I don't understand why she left in the first place.

 **Clarke:  
** that's a question i've been asking myself for two years

i know she was afraid but i don't know of what exactly. i get that it was a new experience getting with a girl and all that, and i know her parents were super conservative and Christian so that probably added to that fear but i don't know why she had to cut me off like that without explaining.

she was there for everything

she was there when my dad died and when i got my first feature in an art show and when i ran away from home for a bit when my mom threw a fit about my dad being gone. all of it

you don't just leave someone like that. like fuck

i'm really sorry i know it's late

 **Raven:  
** Clarke. It's okay. You can talk to me any time and you're having a hard time right now. I'm here for you, okay?

 **Clarke:  
** thanks

that really doesn't sound very sincere but i don't know how else to convey that over text but thank you

 **Raven:  
** No no no I get it. And Clarke, listen – from the looks of it Lexa is not coming back to you.

Clarke flinches at this.

 **Raven:  
** I think you need to get that closure for yourself without her, somehow. You're one of the most talented artists I know and already so well-known in just Connecticut alone. Your art has been sold internationally and it's literally been fuckin' tattooed on people's bodies. Don't let yourself get dragged down by someone who doesn't give enough of a crap about you to even say sorry or to give you an explanation.

Okay, how about this: I have a surprise for you that I was going to tell you about tomorrow night, but I'm going to tell you now so maybe you'll feel a little better.

 **Clarke:  
** hit me. i need everything you've got

 **Raven:  
** I know this guy who is organizing this huge charity event at the Carnegie Hall in two weeks

The main attraction is Berkeley's orchestra, but they're looking for an up-and-coming young American artist to feature and auction off their art for the lobby. The exposure would be ridiculous, you'd get so much good PR, PLUS it's paid. Like you'd get paid a lot. And additionally you get 30% of however much people pay for your art. Rest goes to charity

 **Clarke:  
** that sounds interesting but i dont know f i'm well-known enough to do an auction somewhere like carnegie

if*

 **Raven:  
** Your modesty is just about one of the stupidest things I've ever seen.

 **Clarke:  
** okay. okay i'll do it. tell them i'll do it

 **Raven:  
** good. now go to bed.

* * *

After a brief chat with Marcus, Lexa found out that the solo they needed someone to play was _Chaconne_ by Antonio Vitali – a piece Lexa had learned how to play years ago. Since there wasn't much time for Lexa to learn the other parts, it was agreed that she would only help them with that solo – Berkeley would pay for her flight, and she would room with Costia.

Lexa's parents did not take the news of Lexa joining Berkeley's orchestra all too well, regardless of how brief it would be. They're afraid that she'll "fall back into it", "it" being classical music, violin, something they know _very well_ that Lexa _loves_ doing. The conversation goes something like this:

"I just don't want you to fall into that hole again, Alexandria," Elizabeth Woods says through her phone's speaker. Lexa hears her father murmur in agreement. "You're flourishing in the Political Sciences –"

Lexa is not.

"-and I don't want your fiddle-playing to get in the way of that."

"I won't, mom," Lexa says, "It's just that I've made a new friend and I'd like to do a favour for her, since she's been nothing but nice to me all year. I'll substitute for their soloist only once. I have no interest in continuing."

(That's a lie, but Lexa will uphold it nonetheless.)

Her parents ignore the part about Lexa's social life – Lexa is sure that Elizabeth and Howard Woods don't even want her to _have_ one. Her father speaks next.

"When will you be home for the summer? Father Paul has been asking about you."

Lexa likes speaking over the phone with her parents, because they cannot see her roll her eyes. Father Paul is the head pastor at their Catholic church, and their parents are very close with him – but Lexa has never liked the man. She can tell that he judges every word she says, eyes her every time he leads Sunday's sermon, making sure she is actually praying.

(Most of the time, she is not.)

"Hopefully a few days after finals are over, depending on how fast I can sublet my apartment for the summer. And after I'm finished with the concert. "

"I hope that apartment has been serving you well," Elizabeth says, "And I hope you've been taking good care of it – you do remember that it is your grandmother's money, God bless her soul –"

"Yes, mother. I've been taking good care of it." Being the only child of an only child, Lexa received a very large sum of her late grandmother's inheritance – and her grandmother had been very, very wealthy.

Lexa's heart aches at the thought of her grandmother – the only one in her family who seemed to give a damn about Lexa's interests. She had been the one to buy Lexa her first violin.

"Okay, Lexa," Howard says. "Is your news about the orchestra all you had?"

Lexa clears her throat, ignoring the passive-aggressive tone of his voice. "Yes. I – I thought I'd let you know, in case you might want to watch – Carnegie Hall is a beautiful venue –"

"Sorry, Alexandria, but we simply cannot afford the time to fly out just for a little concert."

 _A little concert. Carnegie Hall._ Lexa has had dreams of playing there since she was five years old – Howard and Elizabeth know it.

"Why are you being like this?" she finally blurts out.

There's a moment of silence, and suddenly her mother's voice sounds, quiet, but clearly angry. "Excuse me?"

"This is Carnegie Hall. Did you not hear me when I said that? I'm going to be sight-reading Chaconne. Vitali. In front of an audience full of classical music buffs, famous musicians, possibly even directors of universities –"

"That you will not be attending in lieu of finishing your Political Sciences degree. Alexandria, do not be _petulant –_ "

"I don't understand. I was one of the best violinists our _city,_ and you completely disregarded that. Completely. I could have gone to the University of Manhattan for a degree in music, and –"

"And then what? You teach it? Become one of those low-life professors with nothing better to do than conduct a group of rag-tag fiddle-players? Who is this new friend who asked you to do this? I don't like the sounds of her, already. If she's anything like that Clarke girl, Alexandria, I suggest –"

Lexa hangs up on them. She's sure she will get her comeuppance for that soon, but she refuses to have to deal with it now.

Her phone rings again, her parents calling her back, but she declines the call, turns her phone off, and reads the sheet music that Marcus gave her for Vitali.

For the first time in two years, Lexa reaches underneath her bed for her violin.

She dusts it off.

She tunes it.

And she plays.

* * *

"Earth to Clarke. Hello? Earth to Clarke?"

Clarke blinks, realizing she has been stirring her coffee for a solid two minutes now, staring. Raven sits across from her at the café, eyebrow raised.

"How much sleep did you get last night? When you texted me?"

Clarke shrugs. "I went back to bed after you told me to, but then I woke up again around seven and went for a run. So, probably around 3 hours."

Raven groans. "Jesus, Clarke. I thought you were giving up irregular sleep schedules for lent or something."

"I lied. I don't actually celebrate lent. Even if I did, it would be me giving up crossing the street whenever I see someone I hooked up with in freshman year walking towards me.

"I swear to god, you're like a sitcom character."

"I'd be the most tragic sitcom character ever. Please." Clarke sips at her coffee. "And you're one to talk," she continues, "You sleep at 4am, like, every day."

"Yeah, but then I wake up at 12pm the next. Still get my eight hours."

Clarke's eyes start to wander around the café – it's finals season, and the quiet bustle of stressed college students is oddly calming. "How are finals going for you, by the way?"

Raven scoffs. "Almost too well. The only thing stressing me out about finals are the people stressing out about finals."

"Not everyone is a brainy superhero like you, Reyes. So." Clarke leans back against her chair. "What else will be going on at Carnegie? Apart from me exhibiting my art?"

Raven pulls out her phone, scrolling through the webpage. "Honestly, nothing, except for the orchestra. It's featuring some big-shot Berkeley violinist named Vanessa Lee playing a huge solo of some sort. It'll be your art, and their art, as the big features. Clarke Griffin's eye art, featuring ear art."

" _Ear art."_ Clarke chuckles. "A sudden wave of quiet sadness washes through her again as she is reminded of going to Lexa's orchestra shows, watching Lexa perform solos that were not unlike what Clarke is sure Vanessa Lee's solo will be like.

"Where did you go again, Clarke?" Raven says, a curious look on her face as she tilts her head to the right.

Clarke sighs, shaking her head. "It's stupid."

"I will _literally_ kill you if you respond with that to me asking you a question again."

"Jeez, sorry. I'm just – thinking of Lexa again. She used to play the violin. Like, really, really well."

"Guessing that's why you listen to an odd amount of classical music?"

Clarke nods. "She got me into it."

Raven moves forward, mischievously raising an eyebrow. "Maybe you'll fall for Vanessa Lee. I've seen photos of her. She's hot. And she plays the violin. And you need to start dating again."

"What?" Clarke furrows a brow. "I _am_ dating."

"If your definition of "dating" is "go on two dates, maybe hook up once, dump person after realizing they are not Lexa Woods", then I think you and I need to have a _really_ serious talk."

"God, Raven. You should meet my friend, Wells. You two would get along swimmingly, bullying me like this." Clarke pauses. "Think there's any chance that Lexa might be one of the members of the orchestra?"

After a moment of consideration, Raven shakes her head. "Doubt it. I've actually gone to one of their concerts before, a few months back, when my friend who is organizing the Carnegie event needed help setting up some lights. I don't recall seeing her. Besides, if she's as good as you say she is, wouldn't it be likely that she would be the soloist instead of Vanessa Lee?"

"You're right. Wishful thinking." Clarke runs a fingertip along the rim of her mug, resting her chin on her other hand. "I don't know what I would even do if I _did_ see her. I keep playing the scenario back in my head, wondering what I'd say."

"Yell at her? Throw something at her?"

Clarke laughs. "No. I - I think I'd be happy to see her. Even if she wasn't happy to see me. I mean, the really cruel, gross side of me hopes she isn't over me yet, that she's still hurting as much as I am, but...mostly I'd just like for her to be my friend again."

"This girl really did a number on you, Clarke," Raven says gently. "Are you sure that's what you would want?"

Clarke knows that Raven doesn't quite understand the layers and intricacy involved with her and Lexa's relationship - the unbelievably strong emotional bond they had formed just over the span of a few years, how they were completely in-tune with each others' emotions at all times.

"No. But I don't even know why I'm talking about this, really. I haven't seen her or heard the slightest whisper even related to her in two years. That's not going to change any time soon."

* * *

For the first time in years, Lexa Woods is enjoying herself at a party.

Costia had invited her to a year-end party hosted by some fraternity, and while it had taken a significant amount of pleading and coaxing for Lexa to finally agree to go, Lexa hadn't enjoyed herself this much in _ages._

Lexa finds herself liking Costia more and more - she's fun, energetic, consistently kind and considerate to Lexa; they're currently in the kitchen of the frat house as Costia makes a strange concoction of Bacardi white rum and orange juice and other alcoholic beverages that Lexa has never even heard of.

"Jungle juice," Costia says, taking a sip and wrinkling her nose. She holds the cup up to Lexa. "Try this."

"You haven't exactly sold it very well."

Costia moves the cup back, drinking from it yet again. "You're right. It's fucking disgusting."

"Hey, so for the concert coming up - is it just us playing? Or is there anything else happening?"

"An auction of some sort. I'm not sure. We never get the details for these things, not even a fuckin' brochure. Not a big deal, though. We're probably just going to play and go." Suddenly, Costia takes Lexa's hand with her free one. "C'mon, let's go explore." While Lexa is a little startled by the contact, she welcomes it as she follows.

They head back out into the hall and three girls cram into the bathroom, then throw the door closed behind them before any other girls try to squeeze in. It's like a flood and the door's the dam and it can never close quick enough. They manage to squeeze their way through the swarm of people in the foyer and make it to the kitchen where it's a lot less crowded. Costia leans on the counter and Lexa stands next to her. Lexa is sure she needs another drink, but she's not too worried about finding one if she has to. Generally, all the boys are pretty okay with letting you have a sip, and if you talk to enough of them for two or three minutes each, you can end up with a couple shots in you. Lexa remembers this from the parties in high school.

Two guys walk over to Costia and Lexa.

"Hey, you guys wanna play beer pong?" one of them says. He has dark eyes that look a little drowsy—probably because he's drunk—and short brown hair. He's wearing a navy polo, chinos, boat shoes. Frat Boy Uniform.

"No," Costia says, grinning slyly. She grabs Lexa's elbow and whispers "Oh God," into her ear, and Lexa laughs. The boys smirk and look at each other. Lexa imagines that they think Costia murmured something to her about how cute they are.

"Yeah, beer pong sucks," the other one says, and laughs at himself. He has red hair and brown eyes but not very many freckles and he's unusually tan for a red-head. He'd be kind of cute if he wasn't probably a douche, Lexa thinks.

"I'm Clay," the brown haired one says.

"Figured," Lexa whispers to Costia. Costia giggles.

"Brent," the red-haired one says.

"This is too perfect," Costia whispers to Lexa, then flips her hair and puts her hand out and says, all sultry and sexy, "I'm Bertha."

It's a good thing Lexa doesn't have a drink, because if she did, she probably would've spit it out.

Brent makes a face like he's gonna laugh but doesn't. Clay doesn't miss a beat—shakes her hand and says something like "You don't meet too many people named—with that name," he says. Never underestimate the power of being incredibly attractive, Lexa guesses.

"I'm Eunice," Lexa says. Costia looks at her and grins.

"Hey," Brent says, all suave. This is beautiful, Lexa thinks. The world is a beautiful place.

"What's your major, Bertha?" Clay says.

"Can I have some of that?" Costia says, motioning to Clay's drink. He smiles and hands it to her. She takes a swig and passes it to Lexa, and Lexa takes a drink and then gives it back to Clay.

"Women's and Gender Studies," Costia says. She's a Political Science major, just like Lexa is, but frat boys trying to talk about women's and gender studies sounds pretty interesting. Lexa follows her lead.

"Same," she says. "Are you guys going to the slut walk?"

"The—no, I don't—I don't think—well, _I_ might, but I don't think Clay was gonna," Brent says. Clay shrugs, furrows his brow.

"I mean—are you guys going?" he says.

"Yeah, we're huge supporters of the movement. It's about ending rape culture and slutshaming," Lexa says. This actually isn't a lie—Costia is making a speech and everything.

"I mean—we, yeah like, we do _not_ like rape culture," Brent says. Clay looks at him with horror. Costia and Lexa crack up. There's really very little hope at humoring them anymore.

"I'm glad to hear that," Lexa says.

"We have to pee," Costia says, looping her arm through Lexa's.

"Clay," she says, shaking Brent's hand.

"Brent," Lexa says, shaking Clay's hand.

That's when Lexa sees it.

The tattoo on Clay's forearm.

It's a tattoo of a crown, similar to a Jean-Michel Basquait drawing, but with a cartoonish sketch of a child wearing it. Lexa knows that drawing. It had gotten very popular through art forums on Reddit, Deviantart, all throughout social media. Stickers were made from the illustration and plastered onto street signs. Even some pencil cases had the design etched into their canvas.

Lexa knows this because she knows who the artist is. Lexa knows this because she watched as the artist first started to sketch it.

Brent catches Lexa staring at the tattoo, and he grins. "Like it? I found it through Reddit a few months back, and I loved it."

"Reddit. Classic," Costia murmurs to Lexa, but Lexa is still transfixed on the tattoo. What the _fuck_ are the odds?

(The odds are pretty great, actually, since tattoo artists everywhere picked up the design once it garnered the popularity it did.)

Brent continues talking. "The artist is pretty hot, too, if I'm being honest. She had an odd name, though." Brent turns to Clay. "What was her name again? We went to one of her art convention things with your ex-girlfriend, remember?"

"The blonde one? Clarke Griffin?"

"Yeah, Clarke Griffin. Hot and talented. Dream girl." Brent turns back to the girls. "Have you heard of her?"

Lexa feels like an icicle is being driven into her stomach. She feels the cold and the pain together, every little bit of the feeling, and she feels faint.

Costia shakes her head. "No." She seems to notice that Lexa has paled, and takes her hand again. "We're gonna go now. Bye."

Once they pull away from the crowd, Costia places both hands on Lexa's shoulders. Suddenly, touch is not so welcome anymore, and she shrugs out of the grip.

"Sorry," Costia says. "What happened back there? You okay?"

Lexa looks at Costia, inhaling deeply through her nose, and smiles. "Yeah, sorry. I think I - I think I just drank too much."

"Okay, sure," Costia says uneasily - then she is back to smiling. "Did you hear what they were saying about that Clarke Griffin artist girl? I should try to find her and hit her up. Artsy girls are _totally_ my type."

The icicle drives into Lexa's stomach even further.

"On second thought, I'm going to go home." Lexa turns and pushes through the crowd without bothering to see if Costia is following.

By the time she gets back to her apartment, Lexa's hands are shaking. She moves to her closet, where an unpacked box sits - a box full of yearbooks and memorabilia that her parents had _insisted_ she pack, as it cluttered up their house too much. She digs through the box to the bottom, where she knows what will be there. The thing she has been avoiding for two years.

A few moments later, she finds it. A Polaroid candid of her and Clarke in their eleventh year. Clarke has flour on her nose, and Lexa's got icing all over her shirt. Lexa remembers this moment clearly - baking cookies with Wells Jaha turned into a massive food-and-flour fight. Clarke's got her arms around Lexa and is kissing her cheek, and Lexa is laughing heartily. Clarke had gifted this Polaroid to Lexa on Lexa's birthday.

On the bottom of the white border, it reads, in Clarke's loopy handwriting:

 _January 16, 2011.  
I think we'll be best friends for life. Don't you?_

Lexa tears the Polaroid in two.

Lexa throws the pieces in the garbage can.

Lexa cries alone in her bed.


	3. Chapter 3

**Four Years Ago**

They meet in English class, in their ninth year. Alexandria Woods is the nervous new girl – Clarke Griffin is the one to welcome her with open arms.

Clarke understands the feeling of being left out all too well – as a child, the other fourth-graders around her thought it was strange that Clarke would rather stay inside for lunch hour, painting with the watercolors that Ms. Ryan would provide her with, instead of playing freeze tag. Clarke was never really invited to many birthday parties.

It's Clarke who extends the offer for Lexa to be her partner when their English teacher assigns a group project.

She leans over to Wells.

"I'm going to ask the new girl to be my partner."

"What? You can't ditch me. I thought it was always me doing the writing, you doing the creative, artsy stuff," Wells whispers, "This is totally messing up the balance."

"C'mon, Wells, don't be a drama queen," she murmurs back, "Everyone else in this class already knows each other. You know that thing people do? When the teacher tells the class it'll be a pairs project, and everyone looks at the person they want to be in the pair with? No one did it to Alexandria. How much would it suck to be the only one no one chooses?"

Wells sinks back in his seat, begrudgingly agreeing to the suggestion.

When it's time to get up and go to your chosen partner, Clarke sees Alexandria look up and around in a panic as everyone moves to their best friends' desk. Wells goes to Parker Moore, an old friend from their elementary school. Clarke walks towards Alexandria's desk.

"Did you have a partner in mind?"

Alexandria, startled, glances up at Clarke, then around the classroom again. Clarke suddenly starts feeling nervous, which is strange, because Clarke usually doesn't feel nervous in scenarios involving meeting new people.

Alexandria turns back to Clarke. "Erm. Not really, seeing as I don't know the names of anyone in this class. Did you – did you have one in mind?"

"I was thinking you, actually," Clarke says, pulling up the empty chair at the desk beside Alexandria's, and seating herself beside her. "If you wanted, that is."

Alexandria seems to sigh a little in relief. "Oh, okay. Thank god. I didn't want to presume you wanted to be my partner or anything, but I'd love to be your partner. For sure. Thanks so much."

Clarke grins, and extends a hand. "I'm Clarke. You're Alexandria, yeah?"

"Yes, but you can call me Lexa. It's less of a mouthful. I'm not entirely sure what my parents were thinking when they named me with a five-syllable name."

"Okay. Lexa. Down to two." Clarke smiles at the girl again – she still feels nervous. Lexa Woods makes her feel nervous, and Clarke isn't sure why, but she's pinning it on the fact that Lexa seems like she's _really_ smart (she's got T.S. Eliot on her desk and a textbook indicates that she's apparently in Advanced Placement Sciences), and Clarke hopes she isn't about to completely get shown up by this new girl.

(Also, Lexa Woods is incredibly pretty, and Clarke always feels nervous around pretty girls, but she thinks this is because it's just pretty people in general who make her nervous. Whatever. It's whatever.)

It's a rickety start, but Lexa thinks she will like this little high school. The people here in Canyon City are nicer than they were in Prineville.

Clarke and Lexa get started on their project – the assignment is to construct a creative interpretation of any novels they have read. Clarke and Lexa opt to do a graphic novel of T.S. Eliot's _The Hollow Men_.

Lexa goes over to Clarke's house to work on the project. Abigail and Jacob Griffin give her a hearty greeting, inviting Lexa to stay for dinner within ten minutes of meeting her, and Lexa politely accepts the invitation.

Lexa is not sure why this girl is being so _friendly_ towards her – in her previous school, an all-girls Catholic school – the girls had always been standoffish, closed off – Clarke Griffin is the complete opposite of this. Lexa is a little thrown off by her character, but she likes the girl already. Clarke's got a soothing, slightly husky voice, and a calm demeanor about her. She has kind, bright blue eyes that make Lexa feel as if she is truly being listened to when she speaks. Lexa is thrilled that she has possibly already made a new friend, only within a week of switching schools. A _cool_ new friend.

Clarke and Lexa go up to Clarke's room – her parents have apparently given her the entire space of the attic, and for good reason. Lexa's mouth opens ever so slightly when she sees the spectacle before her.

There is art. Everywhere. Acrylic paintings on canvases, hyper-realistic sketches of various people of all shapes and colors and sizes, even little doodles on scrap pieces of lined paper that had clearly originally been used for math homework. There is no telling what color the walls are, as every inch is covered with some form of artwork.

"Oh, wow," is all Lexa can manage to breathe out when she sees it. Clarke turns to her, a little confused.

"Huh?" Clarke then follows Lexa's gaze towards the walls. "Oh." She laughs nervously, scratching the back of her head. "Yeah, I know, I really need to organize my room a bit, some of these dumb pieces are years old, and my room is a mess –"

"No, no, I mean – wow. These are – these are really something else, Clarke."

Clarke is right, though – the room is a bit of a mess, but in a – in a _cute_ way? Lexa can't help but think that it somehow suits the girl. Lexa moves towards one of the bigger canvases – a large, Picasso-esque painting of a colorful face. "Art, then? That's what you do?"

Lexa sees Clarke shrug, and clear a bunch of papers off of the large table. "Yeah, I mean – I'm mostly doing it as a hobby right now. I know it's totally unrealistic to be pursuing, like, art as a career, so I'm keeping it as a hobby. It's hard to get noticed out there, so I'm not too hopeful. As much as I'd love to make a living off of making art, no one really takes me seriously when I say it." Clarke laughs nervously, and Lexa turns to look at her.

She understands the way Clarke is acting right now – Lexa sees it in herself. The way her parents look at her when she says she needs to practice her violin. How reluctant they were to sign the consent forms for Lexa to go on a tour with her orchestra group. Lexa takes a seat across from Clarke. She takes a breath, hoping none of what she says comes off as too forward. "Sorry if I'm way off base here, but… you feel like you need to justify yourself, right?"

It's definitely too forward, but Lexa knows exactly what Clarke is doing – after all, she does the same thing. Playing down her musical ambition, because 'it's not a viable career option'. She'd all but given up on trying to explain herself to her family; they were so narrow-minded about it all _._

Her nerves make her babble on, regardless of how aware Lexa is that she needs to stop talking.

"I mean, you shouldn't, have to, but I understand why you do. I m-mean, I have to explain to people that all I want in life is to sit first violin in the Philharmonic. But it's not a 'real job', or whatever, so people don't get it. But – well, yeah. Anyway, sorry – it's none of my business, but I had to say _some_ thing."

There's a moment where Clarke just _stares_ at Lexa, and Lexa is more or less ready to pick up her bag and leave, but slowly, Clarke speaks.

"That's – that's literally _exactly_ it. Yeah. I feel like I'm always – I feel like I always have to compensate for it all. When people ask what I want to do, I tell them I want to do art, but then I immediately add on something like, I'm doing really well in school for English and Maths and stuff. So I have a fallback. Don't judge me, you know?"

"Yes, and I tell people I'm taking AP courses and am considering majoring in Political Science instead, since my parents want me to, and they're always so relieved to hear that I have a "more realistic" plan. It's ridiculous. I'm so glad you can relate."

"Jeez, yeah. Thankfully my parents have been so supportive of me wanting to pursue art as a career, but I'm not so lucky when it comes to other people."

"My parents pretend I don't even play the violin," Lexa says, a little bitterly, but then she realizes that Clarke has no idea who Lexa really is, and she immediately backtracks. "Sorry, that made me sound like such a bratty daughter, but –"

"No, it's fine!" Clarke reaches over to briefly touch a hand to Lexa's forearm. Lexa blinks at the contact, but she thinks she likes it. "I'm really sorry to hear that, but honestly – screw what they say. If you're good at violin, then great for you. I don't think it's fair for any parent to make their kid do something they don't want to do in favor of something the kid wants to do. That's just asking for a miserable child."

"My parents are both Catholic and very political."

Lexa sees the look in Clarke's eyes shift from brightness to a wary kind of suspicion – just like most peoples' do when Lexa tells them this news. "But I'm not," she adds on hastily. "They just want me to go into political sciences and be religious nuts like them, but – I managed to learn different ideals. I'm not really Christian and I think their political ideals are bullshit and belong in the 17th century."

Clarke's eyes are bright again. "Good for you, Lex. Seriously. Stick it to the man, or whatever," she says, grinning.

Lexa gives Clarke a small smile back. She _definitely_ likes Clarke Griffin.

The two of them spend about five minutes in total actually working on their project – the other three are spent talking away about art, violin, classical music, classical art.

Clarke has never met anyone quite like Lexa Woods, she thinks.

Lexa has dinner with the Griffins, and it is simultaneously wildly entertaining and a little stressful. Clarke's parents are just so _smart._ Her mother is a neurosurgeon, and her father is a mechanical engineer. Lexa can see bits of Clarke's personality from both Abigail and Jacob Griffin. She can also see that Jacob and Clarke seem to have a mutual level of respect for each other; it's different from what anything Lexa has seen from a father-daughter relationship before. Abigail is kind, but Lexa can tell she can be sharp, disciplined, if she needs to be.

After dinner, Clarke takes her to a lake near her house and they sit on the dock for another three hours with hardly a moment of silence between then – and any silence that does occur is comfortable. Clarke sits close to Lexa because it's getting a little cold, but Lexa doesn't feel the cold because she just feels the warmth of the happiness she feels about finding a new friend like Clarke.

They hug goodbye and Lexa is still feeling warm and happy by the time she gets back home.

She doesn't even care when her mother yells at her for coming home late.

During her high school years, Lexa goes to a psychiatrist once a week. Her parents had forced her to start going at an early age, when Lexa's constant, overwhelming fear of going to school and her general dislike of her classmates started to worry them.

Her psychiatrist, Dr. Anya Lachman, quickly realizes that the problem lies within the school Lexa goes to, and the way her parents treat her. She diagnoses Lexa with mild generalized anxiety disorder, and Anya is the one to recommend to Lexa's parents that she switch to a public school. A suggestion that Lexa had been making to her parents for years, but one that was only taken seriously when it came from a trained professional.

Anya remains as Lexa's psychiatrist, only a half hour drive away from Lexa's home.

Clarke and Lexa have now known each other for two months, and Lexa has already found a best friend in the blonde.

"…So would it be safe for me to say that she is quite important to you, even at this early stage in your relationship?" Anya asks.

"Well, I … I guess so."

"You guess? You don't sound entirely convinced by what I'm saying."

"N-no, perhaps not. I don't know, I mean, I barely know her, is all. How am I supposed to come to any sort of conclusion about that?"

"Consider this - for the majority of this session, you've done little else but talk about Clarke, and the impact she's had on your start at your new school, and additionally, if my memory serves correctly, you've yet to talk about _anyone_ at length during our time together, other than your immediate family."

"I, uh, I hadn't noticed."

"No. This is significant, though, Lexa. I've known you for a good number of years now, and I don't think I've seen you this content. Clarke must be quite something."

"You have no idea, at all. She's wonderful. And I'm really glad to have met her, and to have switched schools. I feel different." Lexa smiles. "Happier. Much, much happier."

The day Clarke's father dies, Lexa has known Clarke for a little less than a year, and she panics when Clarke stops responding to her Facebook messages and texts. Lexa considers calling her, but if she's done something wrong, she's sure Clarke does not want to be pestered any further.

Six hours after the last text Lexa had sent Clarke, her phone vibrates. A response. Lexa had been practicing her violin as a means of distraction when she all but flung it on the bed to read the message.

 **Clarke**

i'm sorry i haven't responded to anything

 **Lexa**

That's fine

Did I do something?

Sorry if that seems totally selfish of me, but I'm worried

There's no response for around ten minutes and Lexa feels like she is going to vomit as she goes over all of the possible reasons Clarke could be mad at her.

Her phone finally vibrates again.

 **Clarke**

my dad died

Lexa's hands go cold and her stomach drops and her mouth opens and the biggest throat-lump of all time starts to materialize.

 **Lexa**

I'm sorry (DELETED)

Holy shit are you okay (DELETED)

Clarke

Is there anything I can do. I'm so sorry.

 **Clarke**

i don't know

my mom is still at the hospital she brought me back home and she's back there right now

A long pause. Lexa's thumbs hover over the keyboard, unsure if she is supposed to respond or not.

 **Clarke**

can you come over i don't want to be alone right now

Lexa has never ridden her bike anywhere faster.

She gets there and the door is unlocked. The house is dark and Lexa feels incredibly intrusive as she moves upstairs, to where the office and Abigail and Jake Griffin's bedroom is. She sees a shaft of light coming from the ladder leading to Clarke's attic room, and she climbs up halfway, not quite poking her head through the entrance, yet.

"Clarke?"

She hears Clarke's voice, brittle and quiet, and Lexa is almost afraid to enter.

"Yeah. Come in."

Lexa walks in to see Clarke sitting cross-legged in the middle of the vast area, sitting on the dry paint-covered cloth and furiously scribbling away on a large sketchpad. The sketchpad covers Clarke's face, and the back of the sketchpad faces Lexa. Lexa slowly walks towards her friend to see that her face is surprisingly blank, without emotion.

"Heart attack," Clarke says, still scribbling on the page. Lexa looks at the page to see that there's not much going on – a semblance of a human face, but with scribbles all over it. It's quite haunting. "I found him in the living room on the couch. I thought he was sleeping. Tried to wake him up. He always falls asleep during cooking shows."

Lexa's heart aches. Her hands still feel cold. Everything still feels cold. She knows that Clarke's life has now been changed forever, and the most selfish part of her wonders if that will impact their friendship at all.

"I'm sorry, Clarke." Lexa's voice comes out as a whisper as she sits beside Clarke, cross-legged also, knee touching knee.

Clarke says nothing. She just keeps scribbling. Lexa watches, at a loss for words. She has known loss in the form of her grandmother dying, but her grandmother had lived a full life, passing at the age of ninety-four. Clarke's father was forty-five. An engineer. One of the top workers at his firm. A beautiful wife. A beautiful daughter. Gone.

Suddenly, Clarke's pencil snaps, but she keeps scribbling on the page. Lexa turns to her to see that tears are forming heavy heavy heavy at the bottom of Clarke's bright blue eyes.

"Clarke." Lexa reaches over, tucks a stray strand of hair behind Clarke's ear. The tears spill over and Clarke's face screws up with the effort to not cry.

"Clarke," Lexa repeats it once and Clarke is suddenly sobbing, collapsing into Lexa, her whole body heaving as she cries. Lexa has never seen Clarke like this before. Lexa has never seen Clarke cry before. Lexa, herself, cries with the sight of it all.

"You don't just leave someone like that," Clarke manages to choke out. Lexa strokes her hair, kisses the top of her head. "We were supposed to go fishing this weekend. I don't even – I don't even fucking like fishing and he asked me to go with him. You don't – you don't just leave someone – you don't do that –"

"I'm right here, Clarke," Lexa says, wiping her own tears off her cheeks. "I won't leave. It's okay. I'm here."

They fall asleep, Clarke in Lexa's arms, at around 2 in the morning. Abigail Griffin comes home after making funeral arrangements at the hospital to find that Clarke's attic door is still open and the light is still on. Her face is puffy but she knows she cannot cry while her daughter is in front of her. It would destroy her.

She finds her daughter in her bed, wrapped in Lexa Woods' arms. Abigail moves towards them. She leans over their sleeping bodies.

"Thank you, Lexa," she whispers.

Abigail kisses both of their foreheads goodnight and gently places the blanket on top of them, switching the light off and closing the attic door as she leaves.

* * *

 **Present Day**

Clarke watches as movers load her artwork into a van for the auction, although "watches" is a bit of a loose term – she feels like she's watching smaller, not-green versions of The Hulk roughly handling her artwork, fumbling about with the canvases. When two of them pick up one particular piece and one of the men almost trips over the curb, she surges forward, stopping when he regains his balance. Raven watches her, arms crossed, eyebrow raised.

"Calm down, they've got it. Which one is that one?" she asks. "I didn't have a chance to get a glimpse."

Clarke doesn't take her eyes off of the piece when she responds. "Terrible Love."

Raven lets out a low whistle. "You're auctioning it off?"

"It's about time I do. I've had people pass by it in my studio and offer thousands for it." Clarke feels a little less tense when the piece is safely loaded on to the van.

"You told me just last year that you wouldn't even think about selling it."

"Well, I did."

"Are you sure you want to –"

"Raven." Clarke shuts her eyes, pinches the bridge of her nose. "I'm sorry, but I'm extremely stressed out about this right now. No, I'm not sure, but it's something that I think I have to do." She puts her hand down, starting to feel incredibly overwhelmed with the reality of it all, yet again.

"Hey." Her friend's voice is quieter, and Clarke feels an arm around her shoulders. "I'm sorry. I think you're right. Small steps."

Clarke smiles briefly. "Okay. Let's get the rest of this out, and we can start packing for the flight."

* * *

Marcus Kane, the conductor, tells Lexa that he has yet to see anyone of her age play the violin as well as she does. Lexa plays Chaconne for him once, twice, and the third time he is brought to tears. Lexa is complimented by members of the orchestra constantly, many of them wondering why she quit playing – amongst those people is Costia.

There is less than 24 hours left until the orchestra leaves for Carnegie Hall, and Costia and Lexa have been practicing together in Lexa's apartment allday.

"We could record the piece," she says. "And you could show your parents, and they could get their socks knocked off once they see you. I mean, I don't think you're allowed recording devices, but Dave could probably use his GoPro or something –"

"Tried that," Lexa says, continuing the tenth measure. "Grade ten. They criticized the person who filmed it, said their hands were so shaky. Nothing else."

"God, that's upsetting," Costia murmurs. "I don't know how I would have even continued playing if my parents were so awful about it like they were with you."

"I…had support from friends," Lexa manages.

"That can usually make all the difference, yeah," Costia remarks, scribbling down a few notes in her sheet music. "You've yet to tell me anything about what your life was like before college." She looks up, smiles at Lexa. "Any friends back home? Sweethearts?"

Lexa could do it. She could talk about everything that happened with Clarke with someone for the first time. She wishes she were still living in Oregon, so that she could see Dr. Lachman again.

But telling Costia requires telling Costia about the part where she sleeps with her female best friend and leaves her alone in her bed. Lexa knows she is a monster for doing it. She does not want others to know.

"I had a few friends here and there," she says politely, turning the page of her sheet music. "Nothing special."

* * *

Clarke remembers all of it.

Every memory associated with each of her paintings. Every emotion.

She sees her piece mounted as the centerpiece of the exhibit at Carnegie Hall. It's called _Terrible Love,_ named after The National song, and she remembers every feeling that ever came with it.

The painting is giant, almost as tall as Clarke is, and it's all shades of blue, outlines in black. Two women are in opposite corners of the painting, and they appear to be floating, hair flying astray. Their profiles are faceless apart from their eyes and the bumps of their noses. The woman in the bottom left corner has eyes that look like sadness. The woman in the top right corner has eyes that look like fear. The woman in the bottom left corner reaches for the others hand while the other draws back.

A voice sounds from behind her. "Truly poignant."

Startled, Clarke whirls to see a brunette man wearing a suit. He has kind eyes and a little bit of scruff, and Clarke is suddenly reminded of her father.

He extends a hand. "Sorry if I alarmed you. My name is Marcus Kane. I'm the conductor of the orchestra that will be playing tomorrow evening."

Clarke takes it. "Clarke Griffin."

Once they draw back, Marcus studies the painting even further. Clarke can't help but feel a little uncomfortable – while her and Raven are the only two who know the story behind the piece, it feels as if she has exposed a part of herself to this stranger, and he is scrutinizing every aspect of it.

"I love how these figures only have eyes." He turns to Clarke, who is now beside him. "They say so much more than any full-faced painting I have ever seen. I feel as if I almost recognize this one's eyes on the top right – is that fear I see? And sadness in the bottom left?"

"Thank you," Clarke murmurs, "And yes."

"The blue tones tell me that this has all of the different tenors of sadness a human can feel," he continues. Clarke is greatly appreciative of this – close analyses of her artwork has always made her feel as if her art is something _more_ than just people taking one glimpse and exclaiming "oh my goodness, such a beautiful painting!"

Marcus tilts his head as he observes. "Have you heard of the term _synesthesia?_ " he asks.

Clarke nods. "Sachs. Hearing colours or seeing sounds."

"Mozart was one said to have a form of synesthesia. He saw sounds and said that the key of D major had a sort of a warm, orange sound to it, while B-flat minor was black. I see this and I think of…" Marcus hums quietly, eyes looking over the painting. "E minor."

Clarke's father used to play the guitar – she knows the chord. "I think that's what I was hearing when I painted this."

"I can tell there is a story behind this one, more than the others," Marcus murmurs, looking around the gallery of Clarke's art. "The others have stories, too, but this one – this one has something about it. It tells me that you never backtracked on a stroke, never planned out any of the outlines."

That is exactly how Clarke painted it. The day after graduation, when it had sunk in for her that she might never see Lexa Woods again. She had sat down in her attic for the last time before moving out and painted this. She painted this for four hours, not pausing for a second, not erasing any outlines.

Marcus turns to Clarke again. "Would you be willing to tell me the story behind this piece?"

Clarke shifts nervously, biting her lip. "It's just about fear holding someone away from reaching back. A terrible love. A love that's there between people like –" _us "_ -like the two girls in this painting, but one that won't ever materialize into anything substantial."

"A frantic kind of sadness," Marcus hums. "Thank you for that, Clarke. It must be a little bittersweet, parting with this one."

"Who knows if anyone will buy it?" Clarke chuckles. "Part of me hopes no one likes it, and then I'll pretend to feel begrudged as I bring it back home."

"Why auction it off?"

Clarke looks down at her feet, then back up at Marcus Kane. "I've recently started to let go of a lot of things in my life. This is the beginning of that for me."

"Well, congratulations on your first step, Miss Griffin," Marcus says, smiling kindly at Clarke. "I'm excited to see the full setup for your show tomorrow."

"As I am with yours."

* * *

Lexa wears a flowing black dress that covers her feet, and a necklace made of gold, pendant shaped into a circle – a necklace that her grandmother gave to her years ago, the same one that Lexa always wore to every concert she ever performed in. The dress hugs her figure perfectly, blending in with her tanned skin. She had allowed the orchestra's makeup guru (and stand-up bass player) to get her "just a tiny bit dolled up".

"Gosh, Lexa," Costia says from behind her as Lexa looks at herself in the lengthwise mirror. "You look stunning."

"Thank you," Lexa says, eyes straying down to her feet as she blushes slightly. She's had no reason to get dressed up in years – no concerts, no grad events – and for the first time in a while, she feels beautiful. She feels good about herself, her violin in one hand, bow in another.

"Are you feeling ready?"

Lexa nods. She's got _Chaconne_ memorized and could play it in her sleep at this point – it's just the nerves that come with performing in front of a crowd that gets to her. "A little nervous, but I'm ready."

"I guess you haven't performed in front of an audience in two years, huh?" Costia says, moving next to Lexa and touching up the rest of her makeup. She looks quite beautiful, too.

Lexa used to be able to perform well in front of audiences knowing that She was always there with them. She would know that it wouldn't matter to Her how many mistakes she made, if she made any (she didn't), and that was all that was important to her.

"Just imagine the crowd naked," Costia says, smirking. "Works for me."

Lexa chuckles, shaking her head. "I'll give it a shot. So, what's the procedure, again?"

"We're going to be playing for an hour and thirty minutes. The last song we'll play will be Chaconne – your cue will be one of the backstage crew hustling you out onto the stage, and you'll stand on the right side of Marcus, facing the audience, and then Marcus is going to give a little speech thanking you, Alexandria Woods, for being so generous as to lending your incredible talent to our orchestra for a night. He hopes you'll join us after this experience," Costia says, nudging Lexa slightly. Lexa laughs again.

"Maybe," she says.

* * *

Clarke wears black dress pants with a beige blouse and a black blazer. Raven calls it a "power suit", but Clarke calls it "an outfit that'll make the old white dudes attending this event possibly respect me a little more when they find out the artist of the night is a young blonde woman". Raven purses her lips, but then she agrees.

She is not obligated to go to the orchestra's show tonight, but she truly misses classical music, and Raven is eager to go with her.

Her and Raven grab seats at the front row of the balconies, directly facing the stage. The audience settles down as the orchestra is brought onto the stage, and Clarke sees Marcus Kane take his place at the front. Clarke notes that he apparently does not use a baton to conduct his orchestra.

The MC for the night goes to the podium on the left of the stage, and introduces the Berkeley orchestra. Marcus bows as the crowd applauds them in welcome, and he turns back to the orchestra, raising his hands.

You could hear a pin drop, the way the audience goes silent. Clarke almost feels as if she must hold her breath, as even that feels far too loud.

Listz. Tchaikovsky. Mahler. Schubert. Clarke can name them all without Marcus saying a word to introduce the songs. Clarke knows them because she has listened to each piece with Lexa.

Her eyes are closed for most of the time, allowing the sounds to wash over her. She sees the colors that go with each chord, feels the emotions that Mahler must have felt as he wrote Symphony No. 5, understands every movement that Marcus makes to conduct his orchestra.

Her eyes are still closed by the time the next song finishes. The audience stays silent until the last ringing chord from the cello ends, and they remain silent until the vibrations stop moving through the theatre.

Once she opens her eyes, she stands with the rest of the audience as she applauds. She looks to Raven to see that her friend's eyes have gone a little misty.

They sit back down and the elderly woman sitting beside Clarke turns to her. Her eyes are a little wet, too.

"Truly beautiful," she whispers.

Clarke nods. Suddenly, she feels Raven poking her arm. She feels Raven starting to poke her arm, fast, but Clarke ignores her as she continues speaking with the woman.

"I haven't been to a classical concert in years," Clarke says back, smiling. "It looks like that was a huge mistake."

Raven is still poking her. Frustrated, Clarke whirls to face her friend. " _What?"_

Raven is not looking at Clarke, but at the stage. Her lips are parted. Her eyes reflect nothing but shock.

Clarke turns to follow Raven's gaze.

She sees a beautiful brunette woman in a black dress, holding a violin, striding towards Marcus, kissing his cheek in greeting, and taking her place beside him.

Clarke knows that woman. She knows her. She knows what necklace the woman is wearing. She feels cold, all of a sudden. As if she had once been in a warm, heated room in the middle of the winter, but the windows have flown open and cold, brittle wind fills the space around her.

Words do not come to her. They can't anyway, because the audience has gone silent again, and Clarke feels frozen in her seat. She feels Raven grip her wrist tightly, as if Raven is afraid that Clarke will run away.

(It's a good thing, too, because Clarke feels like that is a very possible possibility.)

Marcus is given a microphone by the MC. "I know that in your brochures, it detailed a Vanessa Lee playing the spotlight solo of the night. Unfortunately, by the time the brochures were mass-printed, Miss Lee dropped out due to unforeseen circumstances. But there is always a silver lining to every dark cloud."

Marcus turns to the brunette, who gives him a small smile. "We could not find anyone who could learn the _Chaconne_ solo in time for this concert. Just as we considered dropping the piece, which would call for a rather lackluster finale, the classical gods gave us a blessing. A blessing in the form of one of the most talented young violinists I have ever seen."

Clarke breathes in sharply.

"Ladies and Gentlemen; I would like you all to give a warm welcome, and thank-you, to Alexandria Woods."

Clarke's hands are shaking.

Lexa brings her violin up to her chin. She tunes with the orchestra.

Then there is silence again as Marcus raises his hands.

The low notes begin. They strike minor chords and Clarke doesn't have to close her eyes to see whirls of dark greys, dark blues, black. All surrounding Lexa.

Marcus turns to Lexa as the orchestra plays their chords. He gives Lexa her cue.

Lexa begins to play and Clarke's ears begin to ring. She sees the same kind of passion she saw in all of Lexa's previous concerts; Lexa moves with the music, her eyes closed, not needing to read any sheet music. It is as if with every movement she makes, a note plays. It almost feels as if you could not have one without the other – the music without the movement, the movement without the music. Clarke feels the woman beside her shift, and she watches as the woman places a hand over her heart. Then her eyes are back on Lexa. Raven's hand loosens with every note that is played. Clarke exhales slowly, realizing that she has been holding her breath. Her body trembles when the song grows louder, crescendos that make her feel as if she is being swept away in the most powerful kind of wind.

The song is ten minutes long, but it feels like one. The final chords play and Lexa moves as if the chords sway her and Clarke feels like she could go down on her knees for her.

The final chords play. Clarke's heart is still beating out of her chest. She is crying, but she does not realize until the audience is cheering louder than they have all night, on their feet, and Clarke remains seated, stunned, with Raven by her side. Lexa holds her violin back down at her side as she looks around the stage and the audience with wonder, and Clarke sees a 16-year-old Lexa Woods telling her that her dream is to play in front of an audience at Carnegie Hall.

Marcus takes Lexa's hand, gives her a hearty hug, and the orchestra all stands up to take their bow when Lexa and Marcus do.

"You did it," Clarke whispers.

"You did it."


End file.
